Rites of Spring; Embracing and Educating

By PAUL VITELLO

Published: April 8, 2007

IT is a season of renewal for Christians and Jews as they commemorate momentous events in their histories: for Christians, the resurrection of Jesus; for Jews, the liberation of the ancient Hebrews from slavery in Egypt. As Jews began celebrating the eight days of Passover at sundown last Monday, Christians observed the final, most solemn days of Lent in preparation for Easter services this weekend. Here are a handful of stories about different faith communities around the region.

To accommodate the children, the Seder last Monday night in the basement recreation room of the Bach Jewish Center in Long Beach, N.Y., began with a sensible nosh: some cucumber salad, some chicken fingers, broccoli and enough soda and water to hydrate the bleachers at Yankee Stadium.

''Generally speaking, we eat at the end,'' Rabbi Eli Goodman said, addressing the 40 people seated before him at folding tables. The tables were set with plastic dinnerware and cups, and plates of herbs, horseradish and boiled eggs. ''But we do not want the children to wait all night.''

Rabbi Goodman, 29, considers his congregation an accommodation of sorts for many special needs -- childhood to be sure, but not childhood alone. The congregants include Orthodox families and people raised in the Reform tradition. It includes those who attend services regularly, and those who attend rarely. He is a member of the Lubavitcher sect, but no one at this Passover ritual is a Lubavitcher. Though some people use their best china for their Seders, his is a modest if well-supplied affair.

Within the Jewish tradition, Rabbi Goodman is something of a missionary -- a leader who sees purpose not only in preaching to the converted but also in shepherding at the margins. His flock includes more than a few people in mixed marriages, and people who have drifted toward nonobservance.

''In my view we are all Jews, and that is enough,'' he said.

Most of the people assembled last Monday were grown-ups, though the children made up for their lesser numbers with greater volume and motility. Some sat in strollers and some in the laps of parents. But from the start, several, including 15-month-old Jonathan Shmul, cruised the edges of the gathering like spring twisters. Tailed by his mother, Sarah, or his father, Ori, he covered miles, on all fours, over several hours.

By most accounts, a Seder is a religious observance known for its flexibility. The story at its core -- the Exodus from bondage in Egypt into the Promised Land -- is the main one; but many stories, songs, prayers and recitations are part of the tradition. Some families follow that tradition to a T, others follow it less rigorously.

''My friends used to tell me of Seders that went on until midnight. I never knew what they were talking about. Our Seders would be finished in an hour,'' said Debi Gade, who attended the Bach Center Passover with her son, Logan MacPhee, 11; her daughter, Winona MacPhee, 4; and their father, Andrew MacPhee. Ms. Gade and Mr. MacPhee have been together for 15 years, though they never married.

Rabbi Goodman plied a path somewhere between the one-hour and the midnight versions, leaning slightly toward the midnight. At every step, he explained; and every explanation was a story -- about the meaning of the matzo, the herbs, the four cups of wine (or grape juice), the 10 plagues, the freedom from bondage, the Exodus, the combination of bitterness and joy at the center of the holiday.

Between 7 and 8 p.m., Rabbi Goodman's schoolmaster's voice effortlessly carried its narrative across the room. From 8 to 9 p.m., he was still leading songs with gusto. But in the third hour, as the children grew tired and simultaneously fueled by the increasing amount of food brought to the tables, the noise in the basement reached a level that made Rabbi Goodman hoarse.

When the service was done, everyone applauded. They also praised the rabbi's wife, Baila, who organized the presentation of the food.

By then, the rabbi had removed the wide-brimmed black hat he wore at the start. His cheeks, behind his full, dark beard, were slightly flushed.

He shook hands with one congregant after another. ''Did I keep you awake?'' he asked one, smiling.

To that, Jonathan Shmul, now comfortably reclining in his stroller, wore a glazed look somewhere between a yes and a no.